|
|
|
Modesitt's second Recluce novel — which does not follow the first sequentially, making it readable on its own — is a disappointing followup to his first, that, after a stirring first half, takes a slowboat to Boringland and doesn't return until the tail end. If you aren't already a member of the loyal cult following that has attached itself to Recluce (such cults inevitably spring up around virtually any VLFN series), this isn't the volume that will convert you. The story is set many years in the past in relation to The Magic of Recluce, and details the actual founding of the island as a haven for those who practice Order-magic. (Remember this confusing detail, kids: in Modesitt's world, Order is represented by black, Chaos by white.) And it all gets off to a very good start. Creslin is the male descendant of the Marshall of the Westwinds, living high in the mountain range called the Roof of the World. The Westwinds' inhabitants adhere closely to an ancient legend that most other societies on the island-continent of Candar no longer accept, that they are the direct descendants of the first settlers on Candar (Modesitt reveals that his world was, like Bradley's Darkover and McCaffrey's Pern, populated by space travelers whose descendants have long since lost touch with spacefaring technology) and Creslin, being a mere man in a dogmatically matrilineal culture, has nothing to look forward to other than to be married off to a sister of the ruler of nearby Sarronnyn. Such an allegiance will, it is hoped, prevent the white Chaos-wizards, who pretty much run the show in eastern Candar, from moving west and taking over the whole continent. But Creslin, who's something of a rebellious lad, you see, wants none of this (by golly, he's as good with a blade as any of the Westwinds' female fighters), and launches a foolhardy but daring escape from his escort the day they make the journey to Saronnyn. This part of the book holds your attention quite well. Creslin's risky solo flight across the frozen landscape is the stuff classic high adventure is made of. Though he's not as interesting a lead character as Lerris from the first novel, he still engenders your sympathy, mainly by virtue of the way Modesitt doesn't depict Creslin as a spoiled brat who has to have his way all the time, but rather as a young fellow who'd rather have a normal, mundane life than a life of position and wealth in which he'd be little more than a harem-boy. Modesitt's gender-reversal in addressing the whole sexual subjugation issue is clever, too (not earth-shatteringly original, perhaps, but clever). Things begin to get dicier for Creslin when he begins to learn that the quaint little magical ability he has to manipulate breezes and winds is, in fact, a latent talent in weather control that could very well mean he's a full-blown Order-master. When the Chaos-wizards find Creslin in their city of Fairhaven, he is captured and, with his memory wiped, imprisoned on a work crew. But his escape and mental recovery are facilitated by a couple of Order-healers, and he makes his way to the dukedom of Montgren, where he finds temporary refuge and meets for the first time his betrothed, Megaera. Megaera is, at first, wholly unsympathetic. True, she's had a rough time of her own; she's been magically bound to Creslin by her sister against her will, and Creslin's escape resulted in her being sent from hearth and home to find him...so she's understandably bitter at having her life turned upside down. But her anger builds a wall between her and the reader just as it does between her and Creslin, and it's a while before we feel for her. About 250 pages in, the story starts its sag. Creslin, whose weather-control skills he now wields with terrible ferocity, and Megaera realize they're persona non grata on Candar. The one solution for them is to travel to the nearby island of Recluce, where the duke of Montgren has a small holding and which no one else cares about as it's an arid desert wasteland. Once Creslin and Megaera land upon Recluce, the novel becomes, as I mentioned, a hopeless bore. For one thing, like so many VLFN writers, Modesitt has made all of his behind-the-scenes politics wildly labyrinthine, and though it's not exactly hard to follow (much), it's not really absorbing either. If the whole political landscape in Candar was, like, interesting, then readers might have a stake in it. (In fact, in the one section that is interesting, it's revealed at the novel's opening that the Chaos-wizards arranged for Creslin to be born in the first place [!], since they figured a son born to the matrilineal Westwinders would upset the applecart. But now that Creslin's becoming a fierce Order-master they're now finding themselves having to contain the results of their own scheming. This could have been a wonderfully ironic plot element but Modesitt doesn't really do anything with it after introducing it on page 5 of a 536-page book.) As for the Choas-Wizards themselves, well, ya know...they aren't exactly the scariest villians in all fantasy. We know nothing about them as characters. They only turn up in brief chapters, going "hmmm" in a mildly dastardly way before dispatching lackies to kill Creslin and Megaera, whom Creslin summarily massacres with typhoons. They're just The Bad Guys who show up when the story needs them to, to do Bad Guy Stuff. And the most sinister thing the High Chaos Wizard can think to say at the end of the novel is "No one wants my job after all this." The book's second half mostly deals with the administrative minutiae of getting bleak little Recluce self-sustaining. How much food can we grow this season? How long will it take? How much water do we have? Let's build some real buildings. What can we trade with Candar? Who will trade with us? How much will shipping cost? Ho-hum! Though crucial to the outcome of the story, Modesitt doesn't seem to have any idea of how to handle these scenes in anything other than the most flat and straightforward manner there is. But mainly, this drab section is too long. (In fact, it reminded me of the deadly dull midsection of Stephen King's The Stand, where we are treated to hundreds of pages of town meetings and exposition rather than story momentum.) These scenes really ought to have been redacted by editor Dave Hartwell in a big way, bringing the whole book to a length roughly 100 pages shorter than it actually is and allowing us to get to the exciting climactic scenes more briskly. It isn't until the very end — literally the last 50 pages — that Modesitt pulls off something of a bottom-of-the-ninth comeback, as the tension that has been slowly ratcheting up and up throughout the novel finally erupts into all-out war. The finale restores the book to the quality we enjoyed in its first half. It's a shame such consistency wasn't maintained throughout, but at least we can be happy that Modesitt gave the ending of The Towers of the Sunset almost as much magic as he gave its title. Followed by The Magic Engineer. |
|
 |
